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GRIFFIN AND HIS TAME VINEGERONES 



THE 

DEAD RABBIT RIOT 

A.D. 1857 
AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 

RICHARD GRIFFIN 



PUBLISHED BY 
THE AUTHOR 









4f 



Copyright, 1915 

BY 

RICHARD GRIFFIN 



DEC '30 1915 



©GU420099 



THE DEAD RABBIT RIOT 

A.D. 1857 

Canto I 

The organization of Dead Rabbits meet 
To-day at high noon at two-six Baxter Street. 
The members are mostly expert m^asons' clerks 
Who meet in the back room of Peter MacGuirk's, 
The Marquis of Mulberry Bend. 

The bunch of hod carriers, minus their hods, 
Are eating smoked herring and first class Cape Cods, 
Like so many bloaters without any bladders. 
The hods meanwhile rest in the shade of the ladders, 
'Tis lunch time at Mulberry Bend. 

The lunch being munched and washed down by a chaser, 
The floor now belongs to the policy racer, 
Sylvester O' Grady, the bug, a great talker. 
This day he means business, you bet he's a corker, 
The Mayor of Mulberry Bend. 

Sylvester O'Grady, the bug, took a chew of 
The smoked hunk of herring; he took it in lieu of 
Tobacco, then made this announcement while munching. 
His audience howHng were ready for punching 
And beating up Mulberry Bend. 

" My men," said O'Grady, " it's time now to act and 

At once, for the Bowery Boys form a pact and 

They mane to march through the Five Points, yis 

indade, 
Through blood they will wade, sure they mane to invade 
The district of Mulberry Bend." 

3 



4 THE DEAD RABBIT RIOT 

The bunch of Dead Rabbits were all in commotion, 
Montgomery Flarity rose with a motion, 
He called on the crowd to collect all the brickbats, 
And then stand in wait for those Bowery Mick rats 
And drive them from Mulberry Bend. 

The crowd loudly cheered and declared they would do it; 
Most hazardous scheme, buggy bug house, they knew it, 
Nevertheless these full-fledged crazy hod carriers 
Blocked up the streets with impregnable clod barriers, 
Cheering for Mulberry Bend. 

Canto II 

The Bowery Boys have decided to march, sure, 
And give the Five Points one last settling souse cure. 
They hold a big meeting, there's all kinds of blather. 
The clans from the different wards quickly gather, 
The pick of the Bowery Boys. 

They meet in the corner saloon, stick the stake. 
Sing Lannigan's Ball, also Finnigan's Wake; 
The gin mill in question by name " Badden Badden," 
Is run by the famous Gustavus MacFadden 
The chief of the Bowery Boys. 

A voice said '^ Beware o' those dirty ' Dead Rabbits,' 
We all know too well are addicted to habits 
Outrageous ! They threatened, yes, this very morning. 
To get us the next time we tresspas. Take warning. 
Take warning, ye Bowery Boys." 

No hand in the wall inciting inditement, 
Could ever have brought the frightful excitement 
Now caused by these ugly prophetic plain words. 
MacFadden in fury exhorted his herds 
Of crazy mad Bowery Boys. 



THE DEAD RABBIT RIOT 5 

They rush to the street, they gather in Hne 
(Triumphantly sour hke pickles in brine), 
The brightest red shirts, the tallest high hats, 
Well armed with stout clubs, this gang of wharf rats 
The pride of the Bowery Boys. 

They march to the tune of the " Dying Cow Jenny." 
The child of the regiment, little kid Benny, 
With bucket and dipper distributes the drink. 
They dance to the music of '' Stinkety Wink." 
Good luck to the Bowery Boys. 

Canto III 

In wild expectation the Dead Rabbits gather, 
Up alley way, sally way, wasting no blather, 
But grimly determined to fight, no retreat. 
The Bowery Boys now intrude on their beat, 
The region of Mulberry Bend. 

From fair Doyer lane comes the tread of invaders 
Resplendent with red shirts, implacable raiders. 
Who shout their defiance with impudence, braving 
The wrath of the " Rabbits." Oh, hear them curse, 
raving 
To thunder with Mulberry Bend! 

From up on a roof came a voice, '^ Quick, Mike, swat 

her! " 
The chimney is seen first to tremble, then totter. 
Great Heaven! that yell, Oh, that flash, hear the smash! 
The chimney is falling, great God, what a crash. 
Have mercy on Mulberry Bend! 

Rocks, splinters and brick all congested with plaster, 
Crash dashing, an avalanche bent on disaster. 
Such yelKng, such cursing, such struggling yeggs ! 
Such breaking of heads and such tearing of legs. 
All havoc in Mulberry Bend. 



6 THE DEAD RABBIT RIOT 

The cops soon arrive (in the usual way) 
Just missing the scrimmage, too late for the fray. 
The bunch of '' Dead Rabbits," defunct in the lump, 
Mixed up with dead " Bowery Boys," form a clump — 
The flower of Mulberry Bend. 

The fame of the scuffle will never die out 
No creature can ever its brilliancy doubt. 
From that time to this we have mused on the diet 
We gobbled that day at the " Dead Rabbit " riot. 
The glory of Mulberry Bend. 



WILLIAM THE BUTCHER 

The rambling goblin twists his wrist 
And grabs the kindling kiddo grist. 
Forth from the earth there comes a mist 

Enveloping the throne. 
The HohenzoUern lifts his sword 
On high, and says, " I am your Lord, 
Your war Lord, forward, cHp the cord. 
And smash the British drone." 

The Kaiser boasts one running ear. 
His whole get-up is rather queer, 
Rotting away with shrivelled gear, 

This war Lord, son of Cain: 
Who raves, blasphemes and howls all wroth, 
Who bids his hirelings go forth 
To battle red with bloody froth, 

And murder on the brain. 

Let kultur revel deep in blood, 
The royal Kaiser chews his cud. 
Swallows all logic, spits out mud. 

The bloody mud takes shape. 
The Death Head legion in the lead 
Stabs at the victim, makes him bleed, 
Initiates the reign of greed 

Of arson, murder, rape. 

Louvain, the beautiful, all flame; 
Namur, the strong, has lost the game. 
Foul murder in the Kaiser's name 

Is now the kultured cult. 
Teutonic cruelty doth lurk. 
United with the mighty Turk. 
The bolts of Hell get in their work, 

Red death's black catapult. 
7 



WILLIAM THE BUTCHER 

The Lusitania plies the wave, 
Unmindful of the yawning grave, 
Unheedful of that low-bred knave, 

WilHam, the butcher King; 
Degenerate down to the core. 
Unprincipled, defies all law. 
Exhaling stench from every pore. 

Murder is on the wing. 

The black assassin lies in wait, 
Chanting the hellish hymn of hate. 
The submarine draws near. Dread fate 

Points with a sinister smirk. 
See the white ripple on the crest, 
See that bright sunbeam from the west, 
Guiding with demoniac zest 

The butcher King's sharp dirk. 

Women and children struggle for life, 
Mother and father, husband and wife. 
Death claims the victory. Anarchy, strife, 

Triumphant, cheer, curse and brag. 
Rushing waters and rattling guns. 
Women scream for their little ones. 
Grins and gibes from the kultured Huns, 

Piracy shakes out its flag. 

The Kaiser groans aloud "Oh, rot," 
The wen upon his head burns hot. 
He puts a nickel in the slot. 

Then waves his limber wattle. 
The drum within his running ear 
Beats loudly, see, he shakes with fear. 
The fortune-telHng slot fakes queer. 

Oh, what a mellow rattle! 



WILLIAM THE BUTCHER 

This is the fortune that he reads 
While perspiration, greasy beads 
Stand on his forehead. Now he weeds, 

Or tries to weed, the chaff. 
But all is rottenness within, 
At last he knows he cannot win 
William the butcher rubs his chin. 

Poor derelict giraffe ! 

The scales don't tip to please the King 
The cHnging vine says, " Nixie cling. 
You can no longer fling your sling, 

Go to the nearest dock. 
Say to the Devil, ' Friend, you win.' 
Give one deep sigh and then jump in. 
Your former chums both kith and kin 

Will never more say ' Hock.' 
But night and day forever, yea 
All men will sing, and fling 
Your name, poor clay, to black decay 

WilHam the butcher King." 



HASH 

Hash! hash! hash! 
There's a new kind of hash to-day. 

Curious kind of a dash 
Of spice that cannot allay 
The marvelous taste, three cheers for the cook 
The landlady smiles with a faraway look. 

The cat grabs something with its teeth, 
And quickly carries it beneath 
The fence, then rolls about pit pat, 
Purrs with delight — it is a rat. 

The Swedish housemaid spies the rat, 
Then nabs it, saying " Vas is dat?" 
She takes it to the cook who grins. 
And then at once adds to her sins. 

Hash! hash! hash! 
Deep, devilish — what is it? guess. 

Beautiful silvery clash! 
The pewter spoon mixes the mess 
Of mystery rare — she's a dandy old cook. 
The landlady smiles with a faraway look. 

Next day the spotted kitten died. 
Ere it was cold two sharp eyes spied 
The silent lump of fur. Once more 
The Swedish maid defies all law. 

Strange smells belch from the kitchen stove. 
The vicious boarders vainly strove 
To pierce th' impenetrable wall 
To find the meaning of it all. 

10 



HASH 11 

Hash! hash! hash! 
The same old story runs. 

Boarders wanted. Cash. 
(The theme of many puns.) 
Regular old-fashioned family cook. 
Th' landlady smiles with a faraway look. 



And now we have the western breeze; 
The caterpillars fill the trees, 
From mountain top to grassy dale. 
Scrape off the pests, fill up the pail. 

Once more the kitchen door opes wide. 
Again the rubric, cut and dried. 
That smell, that smoke, that crackle pop 
Emitting from the chimney top. 



Hash! hash! hash! 
Wake up, quick, be keen. 
Lively! make a mash 
With the foxy kitchen queen. 
Just get on the side of that bird of a cook, 
While th' landlady smiles with a faraway look. 

The boarder has a dog, a mut — 
Its ears and tail ought to be cut. 
The doctor calls, he grabs the whelp, 
Doggie begins to fight and yelp. 

The ears and tail lie on the dish. 
The Swedish housemaid has her wish. 
One rapid movement, there now, look, 
The dish is carried to the cook. 



12 HASH 

Hash! hash! hash! 
Fetch down the bowl, all hail! 

Hash! hash! hash! 
Chop up the ears and tail. 
Donate them at once to the rollicksome cook, 
While the landlady smiles with a faraway look. 

So fill up the mugs, 

And wash down the hash, 

Rats, kittens and bugs 

Mixed up with a dash 

Of little dogs' tails. 

And brown spotted snails. 

And worms packed with quails. 

Oh the hash, oh the hash! 

Oh the wonderful hash! 



MEMORY OF CHILDHOOD DAYS 

All things were dark and dismal, it was early in the 
winter. 
I had tended to the cattle in the shed, 
Had chopped the kindling wood and got a nasty little 
splinter 
In my left hand, pinky winky , how it bled ! 
I yanked the splinter out, and then 
Ran quickly to my cosy den. 

I sat before the fire, bowed my head, and took to 
thinking 

And bHnking, I was in a cosmic state. 
A bowl of Jersey lightning on the table kept me drinking, 

Until I felt a buzzing in my pate. 

Sweet visions of the past came back, 

When suddenly I felt a whack. 

My head was roughly bumped, my wit completely 
trumped by 
A dragon fly so sly, I tired ran. 
My weary gullet gulped ; great thunder, I was thumped 

by 

The mule that often kicked the hired man. 
When biff ! sights of my dear old home 
Throughout my vision seemed to roam. 

The hawthorn bush neglected, withers quite away 
uncared 
For; the water lily nestles in the lake; 
The handle of the pump is broken, ne'er to be repaired. 
And the peddler is honest — not a fake. 
He rubbed my sore head with a cake 
Of ointment, till it squelched the ache. 

13 



14 MEMORY OF CHILDHOOD DAYS 

I see my white-haired mother and her dear old bunch 
of keys ; 

She personally does the weekly wash. 
The honey suckles cluster, while the extra busy bees 

Attack the budding blossom on the squash. 

Inside the house the scene is just like when, 

So many years ago, I plucked the hen. 

There's one little treasure here I ever prize, oh my! 

Far more than all the wealth beneath the sea, 
That small leather riding whip dear mother swung on 
high 

While punishing my sister Ruth and me. 

The whip now hangs upon its peg 

Above the Jersey lightning keg. 

The little bunnies bubble with delight and nibble 
stubble. 
The ancient goat kicks at the pretty kid. 
The children sweetly smile and howl with glee. Mean- 
while 
The guinea-hen eats up the katy-did. 
All this by second sight I see. 
Oh rapture wonderful, he! he! 

The Irish stew is ready, it is time to draw the tea, 

The woodman takes the wedge to split the log; 
Out at the pig pen near the barn a tragedy I see; 

They use a clam shell when they scrape the hog. 

They cut its liver out, and poke 

It up upon a shelf to smoke. 

While dreaming, shrill I heard the piping of a bird. 

I then awoke; I yelled! Oh, what a bite! 
I felt a sudden shocking, 'twas something in my stocking, 

I took the stocking off; oh what a pHght! 

Oh see that big red patch, 

How I did claw and scratch. 



MEMORY OF CHILDHOOD DAYS 15 

I'd been giving board and lodging 

To a bug who had been dodging 

And nipping, sipping, clipping, playing tag. 

I could not help but scream, 

I'd been bitten in my dream, 

The bug took mean advantage of my jag. 



DANGLING GUYS 

The hangman snorted, rubbered a twist 

With his neck as he sat on the porch, 

Then opened, clinched his knotted fist. 

By the light of the dismal torch — 
The dismal torch. 

His trade up the spout, yanked to pieces, 
The holiday season drew near. 

He thought of those bright little nieces. 
Sweet Meta and Lulu dear — 
So very dear. 

He wanted to give each a nice gift. 
But didn't know how to fix it. 

He got down his bitters and rice mift. 
And vigorously did mix it — 
Did mix it. 

He sighed as he thought with emotion — 
His craft both artistic and rare. 

Now spoiled by that new-fangled notion, 
The mighty electrical chair — 
Nasty chair. 

He sipped at the grog till it cheered him, 

Dispersing his arrows and sUngs. 
He drank more and more till it queered him, 
And now he sees very tart things — 
Such queer things. 
16 



DANGLING GUYS 17 

Long ropes, nooses, cross-beams and traps, 
Mementos of sweet bye and byes 

Flit past. Pinioned arms and black caps. 
Great hooky, those dangling guys — 
Dangling guys. 

With elbows well in and tongues out. 

The phantoms flit gaily along, 
With voices deep, facing about. 

Intoning this swaggering song — 
Swaggering song. 

" My worthy friend, hanging is nice. 

Far better than black chicken pox. 

So neat, gentle, soothing, precise. 

Jack Ketch, with a rope in a box — 
Jack in a box. 

" Hold on to your gear, hangman dear. 
You've raked up the tin in your time. 
Don't look through your hat at your ear. 
You've filled up your purse mixing Hme — - 
Punishing crime." 

The hangman awoke with a whoop. 
Then smiled, and observed " I'll be rammed. 
My savings are not on the droop, 
My pocketbook fatly is crammed — 
Fatly is jammed. 

" Dear Lulu shall have a wax doll. 
Dressed up Kke a queen, robes of plush. 
Sweet Meta shall have a green poll 
In a platinum cage, fed on mush — 
Fed on mush. 



18 DANGLING GUYS 

" Good luck to those dangling guys. 
They've changed all the pith of my life 
To sweetmeats and all kinds of pies, 
Instead of the blue devil strife — 
Blue devil strife. 

" Farewell to blue black and black blue, 
DangHng guys, sweetmeats, pies 

Are mine, never more dismal stew. 

Hurrah for the dangling guys — 
Dangling guys." 



REVERIE OF THE KAATSKILLS 

On sunset rock there perched a bird, 

A chattering magpie jay. 
One cadence brief alone was heard 

This day so gay in May. 
The wind was soft, my brain most clear, 

The owl cut out its hoot. 
Sweet dulcet chirps regaled my ear, 

The magpie said, " quack toot, 
Quack toot." 

The magpie said, " quack toot." 

Far down the clove I see a grove 

Close to the town of Sarket. 
The well-tanned rustic drives his drove 

Of nanny goats to market. 
I raise the trumpet to my lips; 

The blast shakes twig and root. 
The mountains echo from their tips. 

The magpie said, '' quack toot, 
Quack toot." 

The magpie said, " quack toot." 
19 



20 REVERIE OF THE KAATSKILLS 

Beyond the clove of Kaateskille 

The stars and stripes wave out 
Before the school of Palenville. 

Oh, hear the children shout. 
The teacher waves the switch around 

And says, '' Get out, skip, scoot. 
You brats, or else I'll spank you sound." 

The magpie said, " quack toot, 
Quack toot." 

The magpie said, " quack toot." 

Far up the hill behold a skunk; 

He seems to be all smell. 
My brain doth twist, I'm all kerflunk, 

I'm in the mud, Oh, Hell! 
What shall I do, I'm sinking fast, 

Look! look! I've lost one boot. 
I'm safe across the bog at last. 

The magpie said, '' quack toot, 
Quack toot." 

The magpie said, " quack toot." 

The old gray tower on the shelf 

Of rock presents its clock 
To view. I fear some sportive elf 

Has cast its spell to lock 
Remembrance of my long-lost boot. 

I find the boot; I hoot. 
An echo answers, " Ain't he cute." 

The magpie said, " quack toot. 
Quack toot." 

The magpie said, " quack toot." 



REVERIE OF THE KAATSKILLS 21 

I started home with pensive gait 

Across the muddy bog. 
I felt just Hke some poor cheap skate 

Belated like a frog 
Forgetful of its tadpole, while 

I stopped to nibble fruit 
That would not rile my rising bile. 

The magpie said, " quack toot, 
Quack toot." 

The magpie said, " quack toot." 

'Twas getting near my dinner time. 

I quickly made a dash 
Across the sHme, the mud, the grime, 

For fear I'd lose my hash. 
The fish horn sounded, hear it blend 

And mingle its salute, 
Yes, jingle with my feathered friend. 

The magpie said, ^' quack toot. 
Quack toot." 

The magpie said, " quack toot." 

Oh, see the flames, the burning chips 

Where playful laughing kiddies. 
With gleeful childish smiKng lips 

Singe headless chickabiddies. 
When hark ! that sound, it is the same, 

A cadence Uke a flute. 
As through the flame a murmur came. 

The magpie said, " quack toot, 
Quack toot." 

The magpie said, '' quack toot." 



22 REVERIE OF THE KAATSKILLS 

That night, while half asleep, I heard 

A toot that sounded like 
My little friend the pretty bird. 

I thought I still did hike 
Across the meadow by the lake. 

When pipe ! sweet as a lute 
I heard the voice I love (no fake). 

The magpie said, '' quack toot, 
Quack toot." 

The magpie said, " quack toot." 



A PASTORAL 

ADAPTED FOR LYCEUM PERFORMANCES, SUNDAY 
SCHOOLS, ETC. 

Scene I 

Hillside in Palestine. Bell tower on left. 
Pilgrim and Stranger enter C. 

Stranger 

" Holy Pilgrim, tell me, pray. 
Do you ever brush your hair? 
Oh, how shaggy, just Hke hay, 
Ragged, quite unkempt, beware. 
Change your habit, take a scrub. 
Go and tumble in the tub." 

Pilgrim 

" Gentle Stranger, patience have. 
See my whiskers, ain't they thick? 
Don't you see I am a Slav? 
It is not my place to kick. 
Must I grumble with my lot? 
Soap and water know me not." 

Stranger 

" Holy Pilgrim, what are those 
Lumps within your whiskers, say? 
Wait until I get the hose, 
Soon we'll have a lovely spray 
Cleansing out the dust; don't grin, 
Turn the spigot, we'll begin." 
23 



24 A PASTORAL 



Pilgrim 



" Gentle Stranger, smoothe thy brow. 

I must really say thee nay. 

I have made a solemn vow 

Always to remain a jay. 

I decline to wash my face. 

Fare thee well, sweet child of grace." 



Stranger 

" Holy Pilgrim, I declare 
Now I see those horrid lumps, 
Heavens! mushrooms in your hair? 
First I thought you had the mumps." 

{A bell tolls.) 
^' Hark! I hear the convent bell. 
Holy Pilgrim, fare thee well." 

[Both exit. 



Scene II 

Exterior of Bishop's palace at R. Tavern at left. 
Enter Pilgrim and Stranger. 

Stranger 

" Holy Pilgrim, I'll be switched, 

You are curried like a horse. 

What strange power hath bewitched, 

What hath made the change, what source? 

All the mushrooms you so cherished 

In your whiskers vanished, perished." 



A PASTORAL 25 



Pilgrim 



'* Gentle Stranger, it is simple; 
Just as plain as plain can be. 
Do you see this little pimple 
On my nose? It troubles me. 
Goodness mercy how it stings ! 
If 'twould only take to wings." 

Stranger 

" Holy Pilgrim, you emerged 

From the Bishop's cellar door. 

You are clean, have you been purged? 

You have washed your lower jaw. 

In that purse I hear a chink. 

Won't you give your friend a drink?" 

Pilgrim 

" Gentle Stranger, cork your guzzle, 
Mushrooms bring ten cents a quart. 
Clinch the brake upon your muzzle. 
I confess I have been caught. 
Sold the mushrooms for a dollar, 
Had to wash and buy a collar." 

Stranger 

" Holy Pilgrim, gentle toiler 
Hear that crackle, what a smell! 
Mushrooms cooking on a broiler. 
Holy Pilgrim, you've done well. 
Dainties for the Bishop. Cluck! 
Now I'll blow you off, my duck." 

[Both exit into tavern. 



26 A PASTORAL 



Scene III 

A Barroom. Clergyman and Wife at table drinking 
beer. Pilgrim and Stranger enter. 

Barkeeper 

"Holy Pilgrim, nice and clean, 
Gentle Stranger, somewhat soiled. 
Mushrooms, grated lima bean 
First parboiled and then well broiled. 
Never let your zeal abate. 
Serve it on the Bishop's plate. '^ 



The Clergyman 

" Children, I must raise my voice. 
I am pastor of your church. 
Happy people, all rejoice, 
I'll not leave you in the lurch. 
Sunday I'll take off my coat 
If you people get my goat. 
Holy Moses, mighty Caesar! 
Here I'll raise my Ebenezer." 



Wife of Clergyman 

" Sisters, brothers, pray don't fight, 
Everyone should love the Lord. 
I adore the free lunch bite. 
Smash the purse, let loose the hoard. 
Chauffeurs waiting, hear the honks. 
One Manhattan, then a Bronx/' 



A PASTORAL 27 



Barroom Loafer 



" Won't you pity one poor bum, 
Have you got a heart to melt? 
Drop a tear, for this humdrum 
Johnnie hit the road a welt. 
In my throat I feel a tickle 
Shovel out one greasy nickel." 

Chorus of Everybody 

" Let us all be happy. See 
How the great unwashed doth glow, 
Like some dandy dapper he. 
Let us all sing ' Old Black Joe.' 
While the Bishop over there 
At his dinner table sits, 
Upright in his gilded chair. 
Gobbles quick and never quits. 
See the Bishop bluster, puff, 
Eat mushrooms a la dandruff." 

Benediction 

(Given by Clergyman.) 

" Kneel, my friends, my blessing take. 
Presently the calf will fatten. 
Always shun the fiery lake. 
Sure! We'll drink one more Manhattan. 
Each soul clinging to his rock, 
Blessings on my little flock." 

(Embraces Wife.) 
" Dear speckled hen, 
Amen, amen. 



28 A PASTORAL 

Angel of light sails in on a broomstick. 

Angel 

" Little children, really I 

Pin no faith in foxy skates. 

They're not smart, just merely sly. 

When they die they're packed in crates 

Filled with burning red-hot coals. 

Lord have mercy on your souls. 

May you never boil or bake; 

May you sing the song of praise ; 

May you feed on angel cake; 

Mend all errors of your ways; 

Scrape the spiritual scruff 

Off your hide. Don't be a muff. 

Do your duty. Make a hit. 

Chuck the devil in the pit. 

Do not be a silly kite, 

Thus I sprinkle you pure white." 

The angel dips brush in bucket and sprinkles the whole 

bunch. 

Everybody is overcome by emotion. All weep. Moon 
shines through window. Invisible chorus of Monks 
chant '' Te Deum.'^ Curtain descends. 

The piece to be costumed as follows: 

Clergyman. Black cassock. White surplice richly em- 
broidered with lace. Carries gold-headed cane. 

Pilgrim. Pajama jacket without the pants. Legs un- 
covered. Broad-brimmed straw hat. Carries long staff 
ornamented with gilded eagle at top. Red Turkish slippers 
curled up at ends. 

Stranger. Modern full-dress evening suit. No hat. 
Carries large umbrella. 



A PASTORAL 29 

Barkeeper. White flannel suit. White shoes. Head 
tied up with wet towel. 

Loafer. Dressed as a tramp. Unwashed. Carries 
bundle done up in colored hankerchief in one hand and a 
hymn book in the other. 

Wife of Clergyi^ian. Short green jersey sweater. No 
skirt at all. Pink tights. Jewelled order of the garter 
clasped below right knee. Satin slippers. Very large shaker 
bonnet. Carries prayer book. Is followed by white poodle 
dog. 

Angel of Light. Red beard. Blue wings. Cavalry 
boots. Long white robe. Carries bucket in one hand and 
white-wash brush in the other. 



THE HORSE THIEF 

MacGregor Jay MacDougel 

Had a pimple on his bugle 

And a ringworm up his cauliflower ear. 

MacGregor was a horse thief. -^ 

Bold, daring, yes, a fierce chief 

And they hanged him on an apple tree last year. 

They made him bite a double slice, 

Great Scott 
Oh yes, he paid the proper price. 

Why not? 

He long had been a terror 

To th' neighborhood. An error 

Seemed to magnify his qualities. The key 

At last unlocked the socket 

Of th' problem, bumped the locket. 

So they hanged him on a sour apple tree. 

They hanged him Hke some nasty bird, 

Foul goose; 
The ringworm in his ear demurred, 

Got loose. 

On the outskirts of Rome City, 
Indiana, a committee 
Decided that the village must be free. 
They got the horse thief's goat slick. 
Placed a noose about his throat quick, 
And hanged him on a sour apple tree. 

30 



THE HORSE THIEF 31 

The pimple faded, vanished, yea, 

Vamoosed. 
He kicked (just once) then passed away, 

Unloosed. 

MacGregor faced the halter. 

His courage did not falter. 

MacGregor was a game guy, you can see. 

His medicine he gulped down. 

His gall was roughly pulped brown. 

They hanged him on a sour apple tree. 

MacGregor chokes, he gets his due 

Yes, heaps. 
His cauliflower ear turns blue 

For keeps. 

They buried him with taps. 

He's in Heaven now. (Perhaps?) 

A shaft of marble rears its mighty head. 

The bones beneath the ground 

Await the trumpet sound, 

" Arise, and come to judgment, oh ye dead." 

Meanwhile the pimple and the ear. 

How queer. 
Both vanish; now don't waste a tear. 

My dear. 

If MacGregor is in bHss 

He is finished quite with this 

World, always will be happy, no veneer. 

His pimple will have vanished, 

His evil genius banished. 

As also will his cauhflower ear. 



32 THE HORSE THIEF 

But if he died beneath the ban, 

All muck, 
Eternity's great frying pan, 

Worse luck, 
Grabs tight his soul within its trap. 

Black sty, 
And crowns him with a brimstone cap. 

Good bye. 

Epitaph 

Impartiality sieves sin, 
And if the scale shows scanty weight, 
The village where Old Scratch lives in 
Is sure to claim its precious freight. 



THE PANAMA CANAL 

I'll sing you a song of the Culebra cut, 
The place that resembles a mad goat all butt. 
The treacherous landslide is ready to slump 
And squelch the canal with a squash and a dump. 

In the midst of the stream see that small raking scow. 

It is filled up with dynamite like a mad cow 

All ready to burst at the touch of a match, 

So keep on your shirt, please, and don't pull the catch. 

The Rip Snorter sits on one side of the stream. 
He sups at the bowl of pomegranate and cream. 
The fire is low, the Hver undone, 
The fried monkey withers away in the sun. 

On the opposite side of the sluggish canal. 

The Rip Snorter's friend, that jolly old pal, 

The Hum Dinger, perched on the rocking stone drones 

Love songs to his flock of tame vinegerones. 

The Hum Dinger dozed on the rocking stone tippy. 

The Rip Snorter snorted, demoralized dippy. 

The moonbeams beamed down on the sign on the scow, 

see, 
Read, '^ Thompson's torpedoes, be careful, allow me." 

33 



34 THE PANAMA CANAL 

The vinegerones flirt around the Hum Dinger. 
The Rip Snorter scribbles, he is an ink sHnger. 
Oh ignorance bHssful, serenely doltHke. 
Cimmerian clouds creep along, thunderbolt Uke. 

The green lizard, beautiful gleams iridescent, 

The crawling tarantula sniffs ever present, 

The sleek German Indian hides under cover, 

The moonbeams reflect from the green lizards' mother. 

The tropical sun is a big proposition. 

It centers its aim on the scow's ammunition. 

The heat is tremendous, the lyddite explodes, click! 

'Tis Thompson's torpedoes just having their picnic. 

The crackling thunderbolt bumps the bump slick. 
The rickety earth sHdes the slumpety, quick. 
The spider, the Hum Dinger, bugs and Rip Snorter 
Sink down out of sight in the black muddy water. 

Just keep up your courage and don't give a rap, don't. 
Because if you worry, why, nobody else won't. 
Of course they don't mind, don't care nothing what- 
ever. 
So please follow suit, you'll be deucedly clever. 

The daily occurrence of landsUdes are useful. 
It stirs up the insects, it feeds the wild goose full — 
I mean his fat stomach and crop were extended — 
His tummie felt comfie as homeward he wended. 

The Wang Doodle grins with delight, a forerunner 

Of rapturous times, he's a '' son of a gunner." 

More vinegerones and Rip Snorters assemble. 

They gurgle with glee and with frightened awe tremble. 



THE PANAMA CANAL 35 

The Culebra cut, one gigantic success is. 
Unites the two seas after many a mess fiz. 
The spiders and vinegerones have their fling. 
Rejoice! all is gladness. Triumphantly sing! 



MUTINY OF THE '' SOMERS." 

December, 1842 

(Founded on fact.) 

Captain Mack, 
Cracker Jack, 
"Here's to you, here's to me." That's the toast 
On that dandy clipper rig. 
The " Somers," a neat brig. 
We are off for the African coast. 
Sing he ! ho ! 
Off we go ! 



The little middy Phil 
And secretary Bill 
Clung to the cross-tree span 
Well up out of hearing. 
Philip whispered leering. 
Mate, dare you kill a man 
If it pays enough?" 
" Come, I call the bluff." 



« 



The middy continued 

The black cat of sin mewed. 

It perched on the capstan and purred. 
Its tail and its back up, 
Deep murmurings crack up 

The plot. The Scribe Billy demurred, 
Showed his surprise. 
Pussy blinked, wise. 
36 



MUTINY OF THE " SOMERS " 37 

The brig tossed its head. 

The very old Ned 
Through each plank and beam in the hulks 

Plays havoc and tag 

And nothing can gag 
The Spectre. Dark mutiny skulks, 

The very old Nick 

Delivers his kick. 



The Midshipman Phil, 

His hands on the frill 
Of his neck cloth, looked ugly and black. 

He hissed through his teeth, 

" Hush! th' Captain's beneath, 
Avast! douse it, all clear the track 

Mum's the word." 

The cat purred. 

The brig plowed its way, 
Bright, Hvely and gay. 
The Midshipman slobbers his deck broth; 
He clutches his digits 
And nervously fidgets. 
The fringe of his black satin neck cloth, 
Mysterious tie. 
Anon, bye and bye. 

The topman, Pete Small, 

Poor weakling, he'll fall. 
Slack baked, somewhat foxy, but giddy. 

Cromwell, the mate, 

Worthless ingrate. 
Soon bowed to the wiles of the middy. 

Treason is cronic. 

Wicked, sardonic. 



38 MUTINY OF THE " SOMERS " 

The cook stole an axe 

From off the port racks 
And thrust it down deep in his togging. 

One young sailor laddie 

Concealed in a caddy 
The marlin spike. Next came a flogging. 

The crew liked the show. 

The cat howled, " Woe! woe! " 

The middy won through, 

Corrupted the crew, 
Concocted the scheme, got his hunch. 

Of honor bereft. 

He played his cards deft, 
And soon undermined the whole bunch, 

That crooked vile bunch. 

The black cat said, " Crunch.'^ 



The Captain felt pesky. 
He sat at his desk. He 

Suddenly starts as the bin creaks. 

Down through the hatchway, 
Like the bright patch gay. 

Smirking, his private scribe in sneaks. 
Mysterious mien 
As ever was seen. 



The scribe said, " Tot rot. 

Unearthed ! a hot plot 
Concocted by Philip the middy. 

Who says with one clip 

He'll gobble this ship." 
The Captain howled out, '^ Really, did he? 

Did he not reck? 

All hands up on deck." 



MUTINY OF THE " SOMERS " 39 

The bosun's pipe squeals, 

The forecastle reels, 
The crew soon collect, tension tightened. 

They eye one another, 

Suspecting each brother, 
All guiltily trembling, frightened. 

Anxious, perplexed. 

What will come next? 



The Captain spurts out: 

'' My men, a great doubt 
Presents itself flat, quite a riddle 

Which Philip can solve. 

I fear 'twill involve 
And fry many more on the griddle, 

Wasting good rope per. 

Out v/ith the dope, sir. 

The neck cloth untied. 

With scrutiny eyed. 
The case is as plain as your face. 

The Captain yelled out 

*' Step lively about. 
The rope! make a noose, fetch a brace. 

Foxy lout. 

Spit it out." 

Inside the tie wound 

This paper was found 
(Oh, wretched man! short sighted, vain), 

The name of each plotter. 

No flexible blotter 
Can ever erase the foul stain. 

Oh, poor wretched sinners, 

Confinned gibbet winners. 



40 MUTINY OF THE '' SOMERS " 

How very entrancing 
Three forms dangle dancing 

The fox trot on nothing but air. 
Such heaving of lungs 
Protruding of tongues, 

How charming, esthetic, so rare! 
The black cat now shook 
His head. Get the hook. 

The mutiny over. 

All hands safe in clover, 

Three canvas bags lay on one plank, 
The Captain said, '' Go it, 
Quick, hurry up, stow it." 

There ! splash, out of sight all three sank. 
One handful of bubbles 
Have ended all troubles. 

All ready, boys, hip! 
Stand steady, cheer ship. 

With freedom we now ply the wave. 
Next week we will sight 
Dear Sandy Hook light 

The land of the free and the brave. 
All cheer Captain Mack 
The brave Cracker Jack. 



POOR LITTLE CLYTIE 

I WANDERED through the orchard near the brook. 
That's how I came to write about the hook, 
The hook-worm, very fancy in its work, 
Shooting ahead with many a foxy quirk. 

I Hngered near the brook, I stopped to rest, 
Albeit I knew it not a winsome pest 
Lurked very near awaiting but the time 
To procreate, a sneaky, slimy crime. 

Plump in the middle of the babbling brook 
One small flat blackish rock protrudes, just look! 
That yellow streak upon the rock so gay, 
It is a hook-worm waiting for its prey. 

I shook my cane and said, " My squirming friend, 

Keep off my private pasture, do not rend 

My heart by creeping deeply into me." 

The hook-worm smiled and told this tale with glee. 

The hook-worm said, " I'm on to you, Alphonse, 
You are too fly for me; yes for the nonce 
I'm beaten like a liquidated whale. 
Just rest a bit and listen to my tale. 

''I killed a girl last week, she was a peach! 
Look, see that rocky hill this side the breach 
That cuts in twain the precipice beyond. 
That's where I kiUed the girl, a pretty blond. 

41 



42 POOR LITTLE CLYTIE 

''Perhaps you marvel at my heartless drawl, 
You see a hook-worm has no heart at all. 
I only kill because I have to eat, 
Before I eat I nibble into feet. 

"The girl, my latest victim, came this way 
Last week; she tripped along so happy, gay. 
She rested underneath that willow tree 
That grows aslant the brook, my mystic key. 

**The brooklet is my mystic key, because 

Its cooling water often gently draws 

Attention to the fact how nice it is 

To wade knee deep. The brooklet helps my biz. 

'*The gentle Clytie, pretty little girl. 
Took off her shoes and stockings in a whirl 
Of pleasure, wading in the stream knee deep. 
Laughing aloud — but let the angels weep. 

* 'The small bare foot has got one pink bare sole, 
The hook-worm's harbinger, my flowing bowl, 
The place I enter when I ply my trade. 
Wiggle with glee and sing my serenade. 

''Close to the bank I stealthily did crawl, 
Ready my pretty victim to forestall. 
Ready to make my fascinating bite. 
Dive in the bleeding tunnel out of sight. 

"The gentle Clytie splashes in the stream. 
Then slashes out to rest, oh, happy dream! 
Beneath the spreading branches of the larch, 
I crawl beneath the foot, I bite the arch. 



POOR LITTLE CLYTIE 43 

"I hear a splash, and still another splash, 
The gentle Ciytie says, ' Dear me, how rash. 
Where are my shoes? I left them on the ledge.' 
And then she rushes to the water's edge. 

''The footwear floats away at rapid rate. 

She utters one despairing crepitate, 

* My mother's shoes and stockings, heaven spare 'em, 

Oh dear, oh dear, she told me not to wear 'em! ' 

''The naughty Ciytie wrings her hands and weeps. 
She don't know what to do, she has the creeps. 
Far down the stream the shoes and stockings whirl, 
Poor little Cly, poor little barefoot girl. 

" She homeward limps along without delay. 
Of course I get a joy ride all the way 
Inside the tender, bleeding, throbbing sole. 
The whole affair to me is rather droll. 



"The mother, standing in the door, says, ' Douse 
That crying, Ciytie, and come in the house.' 
They enter and the door is closed at once. 
The mother says, ' Now for the spanking dunce.' 

"Mother brings water in a cedar tub, 
Bathes the small feet, then tenderly doth rub 
The muddy soles, when presto! biff, bang, wink! 
The little naked feet are nice and pink. 

" Ciytie knelt down, one fervent prayer said. 
Her mother helped her to prepare for bed. 
The child began to cry, 'Oh, mother, pray 
Don't whip me, mother, spare me, please, to-day.' 



44 POOR LITTLE CLYTIE 

**The mother said, ' You are so careless, dear. 
I have to whip you, have to be severe. 
Now lie across my knee, poor wilful Clytie, 
I fear I must roll up your little nightie/ 

^*I hung my head and started off to go. 

Even the hook-worm has some shame, you know. 

I left my nest, one jump, I did alight 

Upon a shelf from which I saw this sight. 

"Clytie across her mother's knee did lay. 
Face downward, in the prehistoric way. 
The mother swings the shingle with a whirl 
Spanking pink blisters on the little girl. 

"Poor Clytie to her mother's knee is clinging, 
Screaming with pain under the cruel stinging. 
The angry parent slapping with the shingle. 
Spanking the naughty girlie. Oh, the tingle! 

"At length the whipping ceased. A sweet voice said 
' There, that will do, my child, now go to bed. 
It hurts me much to lash my pretty pet; 
Now kiss your mother, dear, but don't forget.' 

"The child is left to cry and die alone. 
Alone she meets the struggle. Hear that moan! 
Her life is sobbing out. One little quiver — 
Another tiny soul has crossed the river. 

"I leave my hiding place. Though but a worm, 

Unfit for anything but sting and squirm, 

I feel a throbbing in my links, a rush 

Of something to my head, I almost blush. 



POOR LITTLE CLYTIE 45 

*'Upon a cot the gentle Clytie lay; 
Only her night robe covers the poor clay. 
Oh, dignity of death, that marble brow ! 
The little naked feet are quiet now. 

"One purple spot upon the pink bare sole 
Tells its own story more than bell can toll. 
I bow my head; I shudder, creep away. 
I've done enough at least for this one day. 

"The white enameled hearse moves down the road 
Nearing the graveyard with its precious load. 
Poor gentle Clytie, innocent sweet child, 
Whipped by her mother, by a bug defiled. 

"I'm built without a conscience, like a spider; 
Am now on sentry duty, no backslider, 
My shadow of a heart all withered soot. 
I'm looking for another httle foot. 

"I'm king of all the hook-worms in the bog. 
Forever writing entries in my log, 
To-day I wrote about the pollywog 
I bled to death. Her father was a frog. 

"The latest entry in my book is cranked, • 

Relating to poor Clytie who was spanked. 
I set it down, that all who wish may know 
The truth about that tale of long ago. 

"Oh what a doleful flight of weary years. 
The mother's words are ringing in my ears, 
' Dear Clytie, you have lost my Sunday shoes; 
'Tis time for shingle drill, come pay your dues.' 



46 POOR LITTLE CLYTIE 

**If I had been a man and not a bug, 
In Clytie's sole I never would have dug. 
I cannot drive her from my mind, oh no ! 
Her presence follows me where e'er I go." 

PRAYER AND PETITION OF A WORM 

Just see that little graveyard on the hill. 
Forgive me, Clytie dear, for I am nil, 
Naught but a worm, and is it all my fault? 
Forgive and send a message from the vault. 
Pity me, Clytie, nature made me queer; 
Pity me, Clytie, spare me just one tear. 
The Grecian seer is right. Some future time 
May see me rise out of this hell, this grime. 
Poor httle Clytie, girhe dear, forgive. 
The poor misguided sinner yet may live. 



THE APE CHASE 

Oh, shall I e'er forget? 
Not much. No, risk no bet 

When the ape 
Broke through his iron cage. 
Put the keepers in a rage. 

Made escape. 

The people gurgled, ran 
Away, and then began 

The mad pace. 
My! 'twas great fun indeed 
To see the monkey lead 

Such a chase. 

The large bird in the zoo. 
The famous ostrich flew. 

How it jars 
The nervous people when 
It claws, Uke some mad hen, 

At the bars. 

The ape got in the street. 
And then away it beat. 

Thump it, sock it. 
It's hiding in a thicket. 
Just grab it, hustle, kick it. 

Snap a rocket. 
47 



48 THE APE CHASE 

One keeper, Yang a lang, 
The swiftest of the gang, 

Made a clinch, 
Got the monkey by the nap 
Of his neck, oh what a snap. 

What a cinch ! 

The table soon was turned. 
Jehovah! I'll be durned, 

Poor, poor Rube! 
The monkey bit quite through 
His thumb; he got his due, 

Simple boob ! 

The ape was also hurt. 
His jugular red did spurt. 

Let us weep. 
The monkey died that night, 
His grave the pigs' delight — 

The ash heap. 

Oh, can we e'er forget 
The fuzzy little pet, 

Ugly, quaint? 
You may laugh and you may shrug, 
And may think I have a bug. 

But I ain't. 



